


Wild Flower

by Dekka



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Auston is gentle with Mitch in the streets but fucks him hard in the sheets, Drugs, Fluffy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sex, Smoking, but it's true for this fic, i can't believe i just typed that, possible non-con if you consider being high or drunk not being able to give consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:29:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: Auston is gentle with Mitch in the streets but fucks him hard in the sheets(A shameless excuse to write Auston and Mitch being twenty and in love and high and wanting to get it on at a team party)





	Wild Flower

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely fictional and never happened. 
> 
> !!Warnings are in the tags but also: there's use of pot and alcohol together and they talk about a bad experience with drugs. They also have sex while high and while Auston's drunk.

Auston loves how Mitch bends to his will. 

After a loss, after a win, after a lazy morning- everyday he folds under Auston’s touch, arching into his hold. 

It’s so easy to pin him and forget that he’s one hundred seventy pounds of lean, strong muscle.

Not often, but sometimes, Mitch likes to remind him, fighting to get fought so that Auston can show him just how much a forty pound difference can make. 

It’s those times that Auston loves most, having to put in work, straining to pin Mitch down as he devours him. 

You'd think they'd get sick of the harshness of their lives, sex included, but they're a well balanced machine, Auston calling Mitch things like “sweetheart” and “gumdrop,” in front of their teammates, mostly as a joke, while in bed, in private, he calls him ‘baby’ as he’s fucking into him, ‘beautiful’ as he watches Mitch suck him off, and ‘slut’ when Mitch tries to overpower him. 

After a year, Auston knows that Mitch is good at begging, almost as good as he is at teasing, and today is no different. 

They’re coming off of a loss, a night in Vegas for the New Year, and Mitch is needy in his lap, pressing his face to Auston’s neck to hide the flush of his cheeks from their teammates. 

On any other occasion they wouldn’t be curled up on a oversized arm chair together, but Mo declared his suite as the party room for the night and honestly, the guys have been egging them on, pushing shots in their hands and passing them hits off their shared joint too many times for it to be out of the love in their hearts. 

“Let me take you to the room,” Auston says, only after the joint’s gone. He’s pressing kisses along whatever skin he can reach, mostly landing sloppy half-presses of lips to the space just below Mitch’s ear. 

Willy comes by, pressing champagne glasses into their hands and Auston’s spills, forgotten, over the side of couch when Mitch presses the pad of Auston's thumb to his lips. It’s probably a ten thousand dollar accident, but he cant find the will to care, not now as Mitch is giggling into his ear, his teeth peeking out to scrape along Auston’s neck. He’ll send Mo a check in the morning for the damages. 

It’s a visceral reaction as Mitch teasingly bites at his jaw that makes his hand palm at Mitch’s ass, pulling his boyfriend’s hips closer. 

“Let me fuck you,” he says, “stop teasing.” And Mitch downs his champagne, settling back against Auston like he’s never said a word. It’s infuriating, the way he skirts away from Auston’s touch, acting unaffected even as Auston can feel his dick, insistent, at his hip. 

He’d be worried Mitch didn’t hear him, but it’s impossible with the way every word between them for the last hour has been whispered with the hot press of lips against each other’s ears. 

“Mitchy,” Auston calls. The weed is making him feel slow, droopy, but he likes that, wants to open Mitch up with his fingers and hear him beg for Auston to go faster because, like this, Auston knows he wont care about the whines. He’ll be able to draw it out, torture Mitch with pleasure until he’s shaking, eyes rolled back and seeing stars before Auston even gets his dick in him.

“Later,” Mitch says, petulant, “I want to see the fireworks.” 

They’re not even facing the balcony, their teammates mostly outside despite the cold, and even with nearly three hundred sixty degree windows giving them ample opportunity to see the display, Auston doubts they’ll be sitting up anytime soon to look around. 

“Don’t be a brat,” he says, because he knows it gets Mitch going, to be put down as he gives him everything he wants. It’s their foreplay, being assholes to each other. Auston likes to think that’s why their relationship is so good; they get out all the fighting as they’re fucking ‘i love you’s’ into each other’s skin. 

“Go with me outside,” Mitch begs. He gets up enough to actually straddle Auston now, his eyes searching over the edge of the sofa to look out at the balcony filled with their teammates. The position is too temping, and testing, Auston fucks his hips up, gentle at first and then harder, watching Mitch’s face relax into pleasure, his lips parting as he gasps. 

He can see the exact moment fireworks start going off just by the gleam in Mitchy’s eyes. The boom that follows spikes his heartbeat, irrational fear from the high making his hands go to Mitch’s hips to hold him steady, his movements coming to a stop. 

When Auston’s chest stops thumping painfully and he’s able to come back to himself, Mitch is pressing his forehead to his, whispering soft words against his lips and nuzzling his nose against Auston’s. There’s a brief, fleeting brush of lips and it’s like a live wire shocking him, forcing him to capture what’s his. 

Auston surges up, enough force to leave him sitting up, cradling Mitch as Mitch leans further and further back in an attempt to get Auston on top of him. 

Even with the ottoman there’s not enough room to get them horizontal. Auston tries, though, settling them sideways and forcing a leg between Mitch’s thighs to spread them, giving him enough room to set his weight down, only half on Mitch.

Between the movement and the kissing they’re both breathless, Mitch too much so to keep up with Auston’s mouth. He even lets Auston fuck his tongue in and out in slow, languid movements like he normally doesn’t in public, just so that he can catch his breath between each intimate press in of Auston’s tongue. 

Eventually, even that gets to be too much, Mitch pulling on Auston’s hair enough to get him to lean back, to let his eyes try to categorize everything that Mitch needs, even as his brain is slow to keep up under the haze of drugs. 

To catch his breath, Mitch has let his head fall back, leaving his neck exposed and vulnerable, and even as Mitch tugs at Auston’s hair harder, he can’t stop himself from sliding his mouth along his boyfriend’s jugular, feeling the harsh thuds of Mitch’s heartbeat under his lips, then tongue, then teeth. 

Mitch goes boneless under him, his hand thudding uselessly as it falls from Auston’s hair to the sofa. 

“Dizzy, Auston, please,” Mitch pants, over and over again. It forces him back, admiring his work for only a second before he’s checking on Mitch, making him look him in the eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks, careful, and Mitch’s eyes search the ceiling lazily, trying to orient himself, drunk and high, and Auston’s been with him long enough to know that sometimes Mitch gets a little out of it when he smokes too much. 

“Air,” Auston decides. It’s like velcro, trying to pull himself off of Mitch, but he does it, helping his boyfriend sit up and lean against the back of love seat they’re in. 

“Take a minute, don’t get dizzy,” he warns, and keeps a hand on Mitch’s thigh to make sure he doesn’t try to get up yet. It’s their routine, taking from each other, then taking care of each other. 

Auston kisses each knuckle on Mitch’s hand, then lets it go. He’s hit with memories of Mitch falling limp in his arms last time they smoked up, his breathing slow from exhaustion.

It was Matt that had talked Auston down from his panic then, helping him watch over Mitch for the night. 

When he looks around, feeling more clearheaded than he has for most of the night, too intoxicated from the press of Mitch against him, he’s able to breathe, really take in the night. Their teammates, at least, are mostly still outside, and Auston’s glad he won’t have to be chipped for another month like the last time him and Mitchy got a little too handsy during a team party. 

“I’m okay,” Mitch says, trying to get up, but Auston presses his hips back into the couch. “Give it another minute,” he tells him, not willing to risk it. 

Even with the extra minute, Auston still has to steady Mitch as they stand, keeping him pulled in against his chest. 

Mitch is endless forward motion, though, so he’s quick to find Auston’s hand, pulling him towards the balcony as soon as he’s sure enough of his footing. 

Auston doesn’t even feel the bite in the air once they go outside, proof of the alcohol pumping through him, but Mitch does. 

“Give me your sweater,” he says and Auston strips obediently, helping Mitch pull it over his head. It’s too big on him, making him look like all the times they’ve curled up on Auston’s couch and marathoned movie after movie. 

For a painful moment it makes him miss home, wishing him and Mitch would be waking up in their apartment tomorrow, able to laze around all day. To mask his sudden sadness he buries a kiss in Mitch’s shoulder, breathing him in, resettling himself. 

When he’s able to pull away, Mitch is trying but failing to hold his phone up to take a picture of them. The length of the sweater’s selves are the main problem, engulfing his hands and making him fumble the phone. 

“I got it,” Auston says, and presses their faces together, Vegas gleaming in the background as he holds the phone up. By the last picture Mitch is pressing a kiss to his cheek, then shyly hiding in Auston’s neck. 

When Auston tries to hand Mitch back the phone they both look uselessly down at where Mitch’s hands are completely drowning in the sweater. 

“Sweater paws,” Auston says, fondly, and Mitch puts both of his hands on each side of Auston’s face, the hoodie’s fabric tickling his skin. 

Auston thinks he’s going to kiss him agin, but Mitch just nuzzles into the heated skin at his neck, nosing along his collar bone, then up to his jaw. 

“You’re so big, so warm,” Mitch whispers, almost in awe. 

Auston doesn’t think he knows that he’s even talking. 

“Look at the fireworks, babe, you wanted to,” he reminds, gentle, leading Mitch over to the balcony, caging him in from behind. 

Even while floating too high, Mitch still presses back against Auston. It makes his hands flex on the rail where he’s boxing Mitch in, but he doesn’t do much besides push forward hard enough to pin Mitch against the icy metal of their safety net. 

Above them, fireworks are exploding and it’s the first time since the first burst that Auston hears the sound of them, curious at the muted feeling that’s been following him since his last hit. 

It’s been enough time since his last shot, though, that he’s starting to feel just how cold his nose is, so he pressed it to the back of Mitch’s neck, not surprised when it forces a yelp from his boyfriend. 

“Be good,” Auston commands in a whisper and kisses the skin he was just nosing at. It makes Mitch settle obediently, even as Auston slips his freezing hands under the warmth of his sweater and along the hot, bare skin of Mitch’s hips.

“What did you fucking roll in that joint?” he can hear someone saying next to them, catching his attention. 

Predatorily, he doesn’t step back from Mitch, but he looks up at Willy and some of the other guys, trying to glare them down. 

“You know Mitchy can’t take that shit,” he argues, as if they need a reminder of the nightmare of a night that happened all those months ago the last time Mitch smoked up. 

Against him, Mitch jolts, “hey,” but resettles when the next firework zips up through the air. 

“Didn’t think about Mitchy's tolerance until after,” Will promises, hands up in innocence. Zach is nodding along so Auston takes it as it is, squeezing Mitch protectively in his arms. 

It’s his last memory of the night. 

He wakes up in pain, sweating through the sheets, Mitch drooling beside him.

It takes him way too long to take stock of his body, mind too muddled to understand as each pulsing shock wave runs through him. His leg seizes, then his thigh, then his butt cheek. 

As an athlete, he’s had enough cramps that he’s learned how to just grin and bare them, but this one is a force to be reckoned with that speaks to hours of physical exhaustion. 

Auston shoves his face into his pillow, trying to muffle his groan of pain as he forces his heel down, trying to undo the cramp. 

Mitch, at least, wakes up while he withers, his hands hovering, not wanting to make anything worse. 

His hands end up in Auston’s hair, a safe bet as he tries to comfort him. And eventually, the pain ebbs away, taking it’s time. 

When Auston can fully breathe again, muscles slowly melting back into the sheets, Mitch has the audacity to laugh at him. 

His responding glare must be pretty stellar, though, because Mitch hides his smile in his folded arms that are resting on Auston’s chest. 

“What’re you so happy about?” Auston grumbles. He hasn’t had coffee and his mouth feels like cotton. Mitch still leans up to kiss him even though they both make a disgusted face and break apart a second later. 

“You literally fucked me so good your butt cramped,” he answers, smile beaming, and Auston cant help but try to force down his own smirk, trying to stay stoic.

“I honestly don’t remember us fucking,” he quips, just to watch Mitch roll his eyes at him. In all honesty, he remembers enough. 

Remembers things like pinning Mitch to the door, wall, then bed; remembers slicking up his fingers, his cock; remembers the tight heat of Mitch’s body as he finally sank into him, the chorus of some sultry song blaring from the room above them. 

“You started drinking Sake Bombs with Freddie after the fireworks,” Mitch explains. 

Oh. 

“That makes sense,” he reasons and Mitch tries to act annoyed. No one goes drink for drink with the Great Dane and comes out on the better side of that battle. 

“Also,” Mitch says, and looks down at where he’s pressed to Auston’s side, “I’m covered in come, so thanks for that.” 

Auston lets himself smile this time, doesn’t even try to respectfully grimace. “New Year, new me?” he snarks and Mitch forgives him as easily as that, pressing a laugh into the hollow of Auston’s throat. 

When he kisses Mitch again, even with their awful morning breath, he cant help but be disgustingly happy. 

“Love you,” he whispers, just between them. His eyes are closed, basking in the moment, but he can feel Mitch smiling against his lips. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mitch laughs, but then, softly, “love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the writer :)


End file.
